“Sometimes when I went to fetch proofs in the composing room I would scoot up the metal stairs through the hole in the newsroom ceiling a few minutes early and stand by one of the Linotype operators and, fascinated, watch him work. The operator, seated at a keyboard and working from single-take segments of newsroom copy, transformed the words letter by letter into pieces of metal type fashioned from hot lead. When he struck the key, the lead was in a molten state, and then the machine would magically spit out single lines of solidified hard-set type in word form. Each line stacked itself upon the previous one, the whole stack of type exactly a newspaper column wide. It was this miracle machine, invented in the late nineteenth century, that had upended the basic system of movable type going back to Gutenberg.” (Carl Bernstein, Chasing History)
This quotation from Chasing History by Carl Bernstein brought back memories of my dad who spend many hours in front of the keyboard of various Linotype machines over the years.
My earliest memories of him doing that were at Dayton Typographic Service in Dayton, Ohio where we lived during the 1950’s. Dad was one of the foremen there and he’d sometimes go in on Saturdays to catch up on work – and often take me along. Those excursions were always fun for me – so much for a young boy to explore in the shop on those quiet Saturday mornings.
I’ve been thinking recently about how certain smells are part of our memories – and this is another one of those. I’m remembering the smell of the pots of molten lead on the row of Linotype machines where Dad worked. Unlike any other smell I’ve come across in my life. Not a bad smell, just very unique. Bernstein’s quotation brought it back to life for me this morning!
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